Mountain Rose
by Skylar Vega
Summary: Any loving act, even if it's only momentary, has a limitless power for good.


**Mountain Rose**  
by Skylar  
  
------  
  
In this world there are only two tragedies.  
One is not getting what one wants;  
And the other is getting it.  
-Oscar Wilde, "Lady Windermere's Fan"   
  
------  
  
Central Park had never been so quiet before, or at least, not to the best of his recollection. The sky looked like a battlefield between the colors of the weather. On one side were the gray clouds, thick and cold. On the other side was the azure of the atmosphere, warm and calmed. The two seemed divided only by a thin line of white, an anomalous phenomenon Cory had never seen before, or at least paid attention to. He couldn't tell if it was going to rain, or if it had been raining and the sun was coming out. Either way, the sky's mood seemed to fit the chaotic climate around him. He couldn't tell if it was coincidence or irony, as he tightened his jacket around his waist. His wife would probably be the one to come up with some sort of mystical theory about the clouds. To Cory, the sky was just the sky.   
  
Whatever it was, irony, coincidence, or the perpetual hyperactivity of his mind, it kept the majority of New York's population away from Central Park. Normally, the park would have been so populated, he wouldn't have been able to hit a clearing. But today... it was almost eerie. Every now and then, somebody on roller blades would skate by. A couple of them would almost skate into him, and then would keep going without a look or apology. Three years ago, it would have left him there, mouth opened, thinking of a million rude remarks he could yell at the skater. But now, it was easier to just ignore it. In fact, walking out of his apartment and not running into an idiot was unusual. The speed to which he got used to New York life was even more so.   
  
Cory stopped walking all of a sudden and looked around, thinking he had gotten himself lost. He had never really been a big fan of the park, and the few times when he had been there, it was Topanga who guided them to as she called it, 'her spot'. He was pretty sure it was on the west, or east, or somewhere far from where he stood now. But he would not admit to anyone that he had gotten himself lost. In a park.   
  
So he resumed walking. Distantly, he could hear the buzzing of another skater. Sure enough, five seconds later a guy covered completely in safety pads, ironically skated 2 inches from him and almost made him lose his balance. He was gone before Cory could yell, "Hey!"  
  
He was irritated now, and kept walking despite his urge to just leave. But frustration kept him stomping forward until he finally found a familiar brown head sitting on a bench, hunched over. Cory sighed triumphantly and headed over.   
  
His friend sat there quietly, fidgeting with his fingers and staring ahead. Every once in a while he would let out a sigh, and Cory knew he was risking a black eye just by being here, but these ugly situations almost seemed to flow through their veins, so did the compulsion to stick together when they did.  
  
The best thing he could do was to dive into it. He sat next to his companion, who didn't seem to notice, and ran his hands up and down his thighs. "Shawn-"   
  
"Don't, Cor. Forget it," Shawn spat angrily.   
  
Cory stared at his friend for a while and then let out another sigh. The two sat there, staring ahead, Shawn still fidgeting with his fingers, Cory's arm draped over the bench. Every once in a while somebody would jog by, or a duck would fly off the pond, fly south. But for the most part, the park remained quiet.   
  
It wasn't a silence either of them was comfortable with.   
  
Cory looked at the sky again. The gray was slowly enveloping the blue and he was sure now, it was going to rain. In front of them, a wind of yellow leaves flew by and he feared this was going to be a cold, gray winter.   
  
"I really blew it this time," Shawn finally said, interrupting Cory's thoughts.   
  
Cory looked at his friend with compassion. Something inside of him moved, as it always did during moments like these, and he found himself shaking his head. "I don't think so, Shawnie."   
  
"Cor-"   
  
"Why don't we just go back?" Cory asked. "It's cold out here. You don't have a jacket."   
  
Shawn shook his head. He wanted a rebuttal but came up with nothing. So he stared ahead at the calm water and felt its chill inside of him. He also felt... everything, and nothing. He felt so much he couldn't feel anything. Not anymore, or at least, not at the moment. And he was almost glad for that, because he wasn't sure he'd be able to survive otherwise.   
  
"I've spend my entire life trying not to be my father, and now..." he whispered, and was surprised at the way his voice sounded. He sounded like a stranger. A stranger to himself and he assumed, to everyone around him.   
  
"You're not your father," Cory replied.   
  
Shawn closed his eyes. No matter how many times he heard that, he couldn't believe it. And the thought of it left him breathless. He knew Cory was there to make him feel better, and while he loved his friend, he wasn't sure Cory could be objective. He couldn't tell what bothered him more, knowing an uncertain truth or just not having proof of the opposite.   
  
"I don't know what to do, Cory. Tell me what to do and I'll do it."   
  
"Shawn--"   
  
"I just panicked. I just freaked out. What kind of person does that?"   
  
"A normal person," Cory replied demonstrably. "And panic is good. It makes you concerned. And if you're concerned, then it's because you care."   
  
Shawn chuckled mirthlessly. "This is not the way I wanted it to happen."   
  
"That's life, Shawnie," Cory said. "You can take it or leave it."   
  
Shawn pondered the words and dropped his head. "I just want to feel good, Cory. I don't wanna second guess myself anymore."   
  
"Then don't," Cory replied.   
  
"It's not that easy."   
  
"Why not?"   
  
"Because I feel like it's in me," Shawn said. "It's in my blood, it's in my genes." He ran his hands over his hair and let out a sigh of frustration. "I can't even explain it."   
  
Cory remained quiet. As much as he loved his friend, he hated when he got like this. Maybe it was because of his own helplessness, or maybe it was just his anger over the way Shawn was hit in the head over and over. Whatever it was, moments like these left him exhausted.   
  
He put a hand over Shawn's back and patted him a couple of times. "You're gonna be all right."   
  
"How do you know that?" Shawn asked.   
  
"Because I know you," Cory replied. Shawn finally looked him in the face and Cory flinched slightly at the way his eyes shined with unshed tears. "You're not your father, Shawn."   
  
"Maybe not now, but in 30 years--"   
  
"No."   
  
"How do you know," Shawn asked, looking at Cory with what he thought were pleading eyes. Like a puppy begging for scone. It tore Cory's heart apart. "It's not just my father, but my mother, everyone. That's all I know, Cory. That's all I've seen. How do you know that's not who I'll be?"   
  
"Because you've seen how not to do it, Shawn. Because you're here worrying about it," Cory replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
Shawn sighed. "I'm sorry, Cory. It just- I just need more."   
  
"I'm sorry, Shawn."   
  
"I know," Shawn sighed, bit his lower lip and looked at the ground.   
  
Cory added, "Come on, let's go back."   
  
"You go ahead, I'll be there in a couple of minutes," Shawn said.   
  
Cory shook his head. "Oh, no. Topanga said she'll have my head on a plate if I don't come back with you, so let's go."   
  
Shawn chuckled. "I-I'll be fine." He looked up and was met by one of Cory's incredulous looks. "I'm not going anywhere, Cory."   
  
"Never said you would."   
  
"So," Shawn said. "I just wanna be alone for a little bit."   
  
Cory finally gave up and sighed. "Okay." He patted Shawn's back again. "You know, Shawn, sometimes I'm jealous of you."   
  
"What?" Shawn asked disbelievingly.   
  
Cory raised his eyebrows. "If the sky fell on our heads right now, everyone would panic, but you'd probably be the only one to come out of it without a scratch."  
  
Shawn shook his head and breathed silently.   
  
"Trust me," Cory said and walked away.   
  
When Cory was out of sight, Shawn resumed his staring over the freezing water. His thoughts were so many and so overwhelming, he had trouble trying to figure out which were his and which were tricks from his mind. But he knew where they stemmed from.  
  
A little room inside his mind kept these thoughts locked up. There was a time in his life when he thought he'd be able to lock them away forever. Now he knew he had been a fool. They had always been there. And they were out now, tormenting him, taunting him, telling him he was nobody, and deserved nothing.   
  
They were thoughts that stemmed from his childhood. Some of them materialized into moments, flashbacks, scenes in his mind. He could see himself clearly. 13 year old Shawn Hunter, watching his mother leave, watching his father leave after her. And then again, and again.   
  
He had been a fool even then. Not that he ever had any hope that his parents would change, but something inside of him longed for it. And when you long for something with all your strength, it almost becomes real. But it never became true. And the worst part was that he kept thinking, "This time, it'll be different. This time, they'll come back. This time, they won't have the nerve to leave, again. Not this time."   
  
What a fool he had been. With a big, shiny, capital F.  
  
It still made him angry. So angry he could taste the bile raising up his throat. The same anger made him stand up and walk away. He knew Cory was telling the truth when he said Shawn wasn't like his father. He knew he himself wasn't lying either when he said he had spent most of his life trying not to be like Chet Hunter. Or Virna Hunter.  
  
Or whoever else had failed on him. Whoever else had given him up.   
  
When he finally made it to the street, he hailed a cab. Despite the driver's attempt to make petty conversation, Shawn remained quiet, looking out the window. A strong sense of dread made his stomach hurt, and the more the cab sped, the more the pain increased. He was amazed he wasn't used to it already. But he guessed it wasn't the result of turning into his father, but rather the resistance his body, his mind, created against the mere idea. A small part of him was glad for that.   
  
After what seemed like an eternity, the cab stopped. But Shawn stayed there. He found it hard to breathe, think, move.   
  
"Hey, brother," the cab driver said sharply.   
  
Shawn finally snapped out of his thoughts. "Hmm?"   
  
The cab driver raised his eyebrows. "We're here."   
  
"Oh," Shawn replied. He dug into his wallet and gave the cab driver what he thought would be okay for the fare and a tip. The cab driver seemed satisfied with it, so Shawn got out of the car. Before he had a chance to even step on the curve, the cab was gone.   
  
Shawn took a deep breath and looked up. The NYU hospital stood tall and proud and seemed almost to stand out from the buildings surrounding it. A couple of nurses stood to the side, smoking and undoubtedly talking about the difficult patients they had had that day. Another nurse wheeled a grumpy patient out of the hospital and everyone else seemed to be coming either in or out. No one seemed to be smiling.   
  
Shawn bit his lip and closed his eyes for five seconds. This was probably, without a doubt, what it felt to have the sky falling on your head.   
  
Walking in, he couldn't help but tremble at the smell of the atrium. He hated hospitals, always had. Hospitals brought nothing but bad news. Hospitals were the only place where you could walk with a friend, a father, a brother, and walk out alone. A place where you could buy one way tickets to another life without even knowing so.   
  
It was the place where he last saw his father.   
  
The man he was trying not to be. The man who left him without so much as a considerate thought to Shawn's own feelings. He wondered if walking into a place where he last saw his father would merge Shawn into Chet. It was a ludicrous thought he tried to push out of his mind, but wouldn't obey him.   
  
He finally found the elevators hidden from plain sight. Before him, patients and visitors sitting on wheelchairs and holding balloons and flowers, gave him nods before they got into the elevator. He followed after them, and pushed the button labeled 13. The number seemed almost ironic.  
  
The ride up felt longer than the ride to the hospital, and after practically half the people in the elevator were gone, they finally arrived on the 13th floor.   
  
But he stayed inside the elevator. His safety box. His last chance to flee. All he had to do was hit 1, and he could just leave. Gone. Abandon worries and troubles and being a grown up. The compulsion was almost irresistible. But he snapped out of his reverie when a man behind him coughed suggestively. He looked back, and noticed a couple of people giving him looks. Apparently, he was still holding on to the button that prevented the doors from closing. He didn't apologize before he took a deep breath and stepped out.   
  
In front of him, there was a sign with what seemed like a million arrows pointing everywhere. This floor seemed a little more friendly than the rest, and once Shawn started walking down the hallways, he started feeling a little less asphyxiated, but still scared. He went through entrance after entrance, each one trying to convince him to turn back, but his legs stood strong. Finally, he came up to a circular desk, filled with flowers and balloons. A couple of nurses stood behind it, two of them talking while eating their lunch, another looking through files. Shawn approached the desk apprehensively, and when one of the nurses saw him, she stood up. "Can I help you?"  
  
"Uh, Angela Moore," he said, and noticed his voice trembled a little as his fingers tapped nervously on the counter.   
  
She took her time as she put her food away and looked the name on the computer. "Oh yeah. Room 1306." She wiped a little of grease off the side of her mouth and pointed to her left. "That way."   
  
"Thank you," Shawn smiled as best he could.   
  
He walked past the desk and stared at a hall with rooms on either side. Saying good-bye to whatever was left of his sanity, he started walking to find room 1306.   
  
1301... 1302... 1303...  
  
He was amazed he had made it this far. He could still feel his heart practically trying to push its way up his throat, but underneath all the fear, he was beginning to feel good about coming here.   
  
1304... 1305...  
  
1306.  
  
No big letters or fancy signs. Just the numbers 1306 in white tape. The door was slightly ajar, and his fist came up to knock on it, but nobody replied. So he pushed it slightly.   
  
"Angela?" he asked hesitantly, feeling as if there was somebody in the room who would jump at him if he walked in too fast. But there was no one there. And the only thing he could hear was the soft humming of the air conditioner.   
  
She lay on a slightly inclined bed, illuminated by a soft spotlight. Even if the lighting wasn't there, Angela always seemed to be surrounded by lights, by life. Maybe it was the contrarious rose colored glasses his mind always wore, or just her entire demeanor. But looking at her sometimes was like staring into the sun. And no matter how much damage it did to him, he couldn't tear his eyes away. He assumed that one day, not too far into the future, her radiance would make him to go blind. It seemed like a reasonable punishment after all.   
  
Her body lay limp, facing one way, while her head faced the other. The white sheets came up to her abdomen, and she looked tired. Even in her sleep. He also thought she looked pained. But there was an extra expression on her face he couldn't decipher.   
  
Shawn thanked whoever was up there. He was glad she was asleep. That would give him a little time, give himself the chance to ease his mind instead of just jumping into the precipice blindly.   
  
There was a chair on the other side of the bed, facing the door. He walked over and pulled it softly, not wanting to wake her up. It wasn't until he sat down that he realized how tired he was. His eyes felt heavy, so did his chest. His feet were throbbing and so were his temples. It took a lot of strength not to feel asleep right there.   
  
And he wanted to, but his eyes refused to close. He took her hand in his and massaged small circles around her IV. There was already a dark bruise forming there. He had to give her even more credit. Just the thought of having a needle stuck to his hand for more than 5 seconds made him shudder.   
  
A curl of her hair was sprayed over her face and he brushed it aside. His hand rested on the side of her face and he mimicked the movements his other hand made on the back of hers. "I'm sorry," he whispered, almost inaudibly, and hoped she could hear him. He thought he saw the muscles on her face move, but he didn't know if exhaustion was playing tricks on him again.  
  
Suddenly he felt like Shawn again. A little of his confidence came back and he was able to relax. He concentrated on her breathing, serene and even, and almost hypnotizing. It felt almost like meditating, but he wasn't surprised. Watching her sleep was one of the few things that helped him sleep during nights when insomnia went to bed with them.   
  
And then all the arguments he could muster came to him. They almost threatened to come out of his mouth. But there was no one there he could talk to. No one who could hear his excuses, explanations or his statements of self-justification.   
  
Because at the moment, that was all he had. A thousand promises waited on the back of his mind. But he had been on the other end of a lot of empty promises. That, in turn, made him feel queasy. He knew how rotten it felt when promises, important promises, were broken. But he guessed that was the reason they were called promises. To be broken. Or to be obsessed over. Only to be disappointed later.   
  
Angela stirred and moaned in her sleep. Shawn whispered her name, but she didn't wake. This wasn't at all how he thought things would go. He wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. So he let go of her hand and rested an elbow on the chair's arm rest. His fingers came up to massage the bridge of his nose and his eyes closed. He wasn't sure when visitor's hours would be over, but he was sure he didn't care. If they wanted him out of there before Angela woke, then they would have to throw him out. The thought almost made him smile. That certainly would be the perfect ending to an awfully conflicted day.   
  
After a minute or two, he found himself falling asleep. But that wouldn't last for long either.   
  
He was startled by a knock on the door. A heavy nurse peeked half her body into the room, without waiting for his reply, seemingly to check on Angela. Shawn could only see her head from where he sat, and wondered if she was there to throw him out. "She's still asleep," she whispered.  
  
"Yeah," Shawn nodded as he stood up, putting his hands in his pockets. He hesitated for a second and asked, "I-is she okay?"  
  
"Oh, she's fine," the nurse replied and waved her hand dismissively, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "But she'll be out for a while."   
  
Shawn tried to hide his disappointment. He really wanted to see her tonight. Even if she yelled at him and told him she never wanted to see him again, he wanted to hear her voice. Just for a second. He was sure it would help him sleep better tonight.   
  
The silence forced him to look up, and he found the nurse staring at him. "What?" Shawn asked.   
  
She snapped her fingers, as if she suddenly remembered something, and gave him a brighter smile. "You're Mr. Hunter," the nurse said. "Shawn Hunter?"   
  
Shawn frowned. He was sure he had never seen her before, though his memory was one of the things he could question at the moment. "How do you know?"   
  
The nurse nodded. "I thought you looked familiar." She walked into the room now, pushing something high and transparent. "There's a little person here who has your eyes," she sang in an almost teasing melody.   
  
Shawn's heart dropped when he realized she was pushing a bassinet. A bassinet? He instinctively took a step back. This was it. All the relaxation he felt before was gone and replaced by the familiar presence of fear. He looked at Angela for a second, hoping she'd wake up now. He needed her reassurance more than ever. But she didn't seem to know they were even in the room. He looked up at the nurse again. She was getting closer now, and oblivious to his overwhelming need to break down.   
  
"Angela said you might be stopping by. She wanted to make sure you met her tonight," she continued.   
  
"Her?" Shawn moved his mouth a couple of times to add something else, but no sound came out.  
  
The nurse picked up a baby with all the grace in the world, and walked over. "Would you like to hold her?"   
  
Finally, Shawn was able to verbalize the incoherence of his thoughts in mumbles. "No, no."   
  
"You don't have to be nervous, just sit down."   
  
"No, no, no, no," he continued. "I-I'll break her."   
  
The nurse laughed. "Mr. Hunter, in my 30 years as a nurse, I've never seen a baby get 'broken'."   
  
But Shawn kept shaking his head. The back of his knees bumped against the chair. He was trapped. His eyes kept staring at the baby, or at least, the bundle of blankets wearing a pink hat. And then it dawned upon him. A tiny nose. The color of coffee mixed with milk. Presumably keeper of his eyes. A pink hat.   
  
His daughter.   
  
Right there. Coming towards him. Begging him to hold her without breaking her. Expecting him to hold her without letting her fall. Not just now, but for the rest of his existence. Suddenly jumping out the window seemed like a really good idea.   
  
"Come on, sit down," the nurse commanded. "She won't bite you yet."   
  
Shawn wasn't sure if he was obeying her of if his legs just gave in, but next thing he knew, he was sitting on the chair again. "Wait," he protested, but the nurse didn't seem to hear him. He wasn't sure if she was ignoring him, or if his voice was gone.   
  
"Just support her head," the nurse said.  
  
Shawn's eyes were wide and weary. His arms instinctively reached over as he repeated the words in his head over and over again. 'Just support the head, support the head, support the head; for God's sake, support the head!'   
  
If the nurse noticed the drops of sweat sliding down his forehead, she didn't say anything. He could have broken into song and dance, and he got the feeling she wouldn't notice that either. She simply deposited the baby from her hands to his arms, showing off her years of expertise. She didn't hesitate, didn't even give it a second thought, as if she trusted Shawn completely.   
  
And then, without much fuzz, he was holding her. His mouth dropped, and everything around him went quiet.   
  
"See? It's not that hard," the nurse said gently.   
  
He looked up and smiled at her, and stared at the small tagged pinned to her shirt. Marie. Nurse Marie. Sounded right.   
  
But he didn't dwell that for long. He looked down to stare at his daughter and as he did, her little mouth opened in a huge yawn. Shawn chuckled nervously. "She's alive," he whispered in amazement.   
  
"Yeah, of course she's alive."   
  
"Wow," Shawn added. She seemed comfortable, and her whole body rested on his lower arm. "Wow," he repeated, not caring if he sounded like an idiot or not.   
  
"Congratulations," Marie said. "She's very beautiful."   
  
"She's very beautiful," Shawn repeated. "She's the most beautiful--" he continued but stopped there. He couldn't continue even if he could get rid of the knot in his throat. There were just no words known to man. No sonnet, no piece of poetry, no amount of songs put together could describe the sensation of her weight on his arms. He felt like he would have a heart attack, right there. Or at least, a panic attack. Or maybe he would just die of excitement. Excitement and just about everything else.   
  
Shawn Hunter, a trailer park kid, abandoned by his parents, and raised in a world of maleficience and inequity, suddenly understood beauty. For the first time in his life. He felt drunk, high, completely intoxicated on exhilaration.  
  
And for the first time he felt like maybe, just maybe, he deserved this. All of it. It was his.  
  
He felt Marie's hand on his shoulder, and he heard her say he could call her if he needed her, but her voice seemed distant even before she was gone. He realized his face felt weird, like somebody was stretching the skin around his mouth into a smile. But he could also taste something salty. Tears? He scolded himself at that. If he didn't die of excitement, he'd die of insanity.   
  
But the baby didn't seem to mind. "You know, I was so ready for this," he whispered to her. "I wanted you to open your eyes for the first time and look at me, and I wanted to look like a good father," he chuckled. "I'm glad you can't laugh yet, because I'm pretty sure I look like a babbling fool right now."   
  
He looked at Angela, half expecting to find her awake, looking at them and smiling in that endearing way of hers. But she hadn't even moved. He wished he could wake her up so they could both experience this moment together. But something held him back. What if she was angry at him? What if she didn't want him around? Around his daughter?  
  
Shawn pushed the thoughts out of his mind and placed his daughter between his legs. He started to unwrap her so he could find her tiny hands and when he did, she immediately closed her fists around his index fingers and held on tight. And that made him laugh. And cry. And he was trying his best to remain calm and relaxed, but that wasn't working.   
  
How could someone so tiny arouse such powerful emotions?  
  
Not that he had never seen perfection before. He saw it in nature, in pictures, in the sky, in art... in Angela. And then it made more sense. She was Angela. And she was him too. But she was something else. As much as she was a part of him and Angela, she was her own little person. Had he been scared before? Scared of her? Sounded ridiculous now. He thought that her being his daughter, instantly would make her angry with him. The way he had been mad at his father for so many years and for so many and so few reasons. But she wasn't angry. And he wondered if she was feeling what he was feeling at the moment. Feeling like he had known her since he was born. Known her, and maybe waited for her to come into his life. Just as he had waited for Angela. Knowing that some day, God would take his best qualities, and Angela's, to put them in a small bundle.   
  
Because now that she was here, she seemed familiar.   
  
"I know this is a very, very scary thing for me to say, and maybe even mean," he whispered. "But I'm your dad." He waited for her to start crying, but she didn't. "Yeah, you know me. I was the annoying guy playing classical music for you these past nine months.  
  
"Oh, and that's your mom," he said, picking up the baby in his arms again so she would face Angela. "Her name is Angela, I know you already met her. I know she's gonna be a great mom to you, so don't worry about that, okay? And I know I always hated when my father made promises, but I promise you I'll try to be a good dad too." As much as the words sounded comforting to his ears, they also sounded strange. And maybe a little uncertain.   
  
"I don't really know how to do this very well, so I was hoping we could learn this together, okay? You make sure you always hold my fingers like this, and I make sure you don't start dating until you're 32."   
  
Another yawn. For him. He unwrapped her blanket completely and took a little foot in his hand. Ten toes and ten fingers. But he had the feeling that even if she was incomplete, she would still be perfect. Just because she was. She was his and she was Angela's. She was small but powerful. Powerful, yet gentle. And physiologically simple, yet aesthetically Byzantine.   
  
He suddenly kicked himself mentally for running away. Every time that he did or tried. Again, he had proved himself to be a fool. With a big, shiny, capital F.   
  
And then as if the moment wasn't perfect enough, she opened her eyes. Shawn thought she'd start crying. Maybe she was hungry and needed a change. But she didn't cry. Instead, her eyes found his. And it was like staring into Angela's eyes, or his own eyes when he stared at himself in the mirror. The nurse was right. Those were his eyes. A little dark now, but would later turn into the color of the clear sky. And they moved his soul. In a way that hadn't been moved before. And he wondered if his entire life had been created so he could enjoy this moment. It made sense that it had. Because of someone came into the room right and shot him, he would die a happy man.  
  
"Hi," Shawn cooed, and thought he saw the hint of a smile on her face. "Happy birthday, baby."   
  
And he didn't say anything else. And she didn't make a sound. Every once in a while she would try to look around, but always ended up looking back at him. Maybe trying to ask him a million questions, or maybe just trying to get to know him. It didn't matter to Shawn. He was perfectly content just staring at her, or tracing her soft features with his fingers, just to memorize all of her. And his heart was beating so fast, at one point he was scared it would jump out of his chest and run out of the hospital. He realized quickly that his entire life, the bad moments and the good, didn't seem to matter at this instance. Not did the fear that he would ever leave, however questionable that seemed.   
  
He didn't know how much time passed. But she didn't fall asleep, and neither did he. She would yawn every once in a while, but always ended up looking at him. He wondered if she knew who he was. He really felt it was important for her to know he was her daddy. And that over the course of the next months, he would wait eagerly for her to say that word. He could tell her, sing it to her, but he wasn't sure if she'd ever know how much he cherished it already.   
  
A few minutes, or hours, or weeks later, Marie was knocking on the door again. And again she let herself in without waiting for a reply. "I have to take her back," she said, rolling the bassinet closer.   
  
"Oh," Shawn said, thwarted. And when Marie took the baby from him, his arms felt empty and foiled.   
  
"Don't worry, you can take her home soon."   
  
"How soon?" Shawn asked.   
  
"Soon," Marie said as she deposited the baby on the bassinet. "And then soon after that you'll be wishing you were back here again. So enjoy the diaper service while you can."   
  
Shawn smiled at her and stood up, feeling his body more tired than it felt before. He bent down and placed a kiss on the baby's forehead, and when he did, he noticed for the first time there was a tag taped to the bassinet with her name. Sierra Rose Hunter. He looked up at Marie, who was smiling down at him the way his mother did whenever she thought he wasn't looking. He laughed. "That's the name I chose."   
  
"It's nice," Marie replied.   
  
"I thought Angela didn't like it," he chuckled again. But at the same time he felt guilt. If Angela knew what had happened, would she had used the name?  
  
"Okay, dad," Marie said. "We'll be back to breast feed when Angela wakes up."   
  
"Okay," Shawn said, and whispered a good-bye to Sierra as the nurse took her out of the room.   
  
And then he let out a content sigh. And turned to Angela again. Now she seemed to have a small smile on her face, like she always did when she had good dreams. He walked over and took her hand, and caressed the side of her face. The act made her stir, and he expected her to keep sleeping, but she took a deep breath instead.   
  
"Angela?" he whispered, and when nothing happened, he repeated her name, a little louder.   
  
"Hmm?" she hummed almost inaudibly. It took her a while to open her eyes, and when she did, she looked around the room in confusion. "Shawn?"  
  
"Up here," he smiled. Did she know where she was? Her eyes met his and she smiled a little. Taking that as a positive sign, he climbed into bed with her, and when Angela scooted over, she winced slightly. Shawn's body paralyzed. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Are you in pain?"  
  
"It's okay," she said. She scanned the room again, wondering why her brain didn't seem to register the information. What happened? And then her eyes opened wide when she realized they were at the hospital. "The baby?"   
  
"She's great," Shawn replied.   
  
Suddenly the memories flooded into Angela. The hours of labor and then birth. And then holding a baby girl in her arms. And feeling tears rolling down her face. Lots of them. And the thought of it made her eyes misty again. "Did you see her?" she asked, letting her head rest on his chest, just above his heart. Her hand took his and their fingers instinctively intertwined.   
  
"Yeah."  
  
"She looks just like you, Shawn," she smiled playfully.   
  
"Really?" he asked, trying to hide how much that statement pleased him.   
  
"Yeah. She has your ears."   
  
Shawn chuckled and placed a kiss on her forehead.   
  
"Are you okay?" she asked. "Cory said you got sick."   
  
That made his smile vanish. "Yeah, I'm fine." He played with her fingers as he tried to think of the best words to use. "I'm sorry."  
  
"For what?"  
  
He remained silent for a second, and his breathing became labored. "Angela," he said and waited. When he didn't continue, she looked up at him.   
  
"What?"  
  
"I didn't really get sick," he said. "I mean, I did, but... I just..." He let out a sigh. "I was so scared."   
  
She didn't say anything, but snuggled closer. "I know."  
  
Shawn didn't say anything either. A part of him thought maybe she'd understand, but that didn't make the guilt go away. "When he said the head was out, I just... That was it. That was gonna make me a father, but that didn't mean it would make me a good one. And the next thing I knew, I was outside, I couldn't breathe, I started walking..."  
  
"Shawn..."   
  
"I know," he said. "But I don't know anything about babies, or kids, and how to raise them. I mean, every time things got bad, my father ran away." He thought of that statement for a couple of seconds and added, "That's all I know about being a father. That you leave when things get bad."   
  
"Yeah, but you also know that's not what you do either," she reassured him.   
  
An empty smile formed on his face. "That's what Cory said." He waited a couple of seconds and then added, "I ran out of my own child's birth."   
  
Angela remained quiet again. He hated when she did that. Shawn didn't want her to think too much. He just wanted her to sentence him and get it over with.   
  
"I'm not mad, Shawn," she said.   
  
"You should be."   
  
"I know," she sighed. "I guess... I was. But then I keep thinking about the last nine months. You were always there, Shawn. You stayed through doctor visits, and sonograms, and scares..."   
  
Angela felt his heart beating faster under her cheek. She was sure her own was too. "I was scared too, Shawn. I still am. Being the mom doesn't mean you're the reasonable one."   
  
That was true. Boy, did he know that was true. He was sure he had heard those words before. Maybe from his own mother. Having a child doesn't immediately make you a good parent. And it scared him. But not as much as it would have an hour ago.   
  
"I don't wanna think about that, okay?" she added.   
  
"Okay," he said. And for the next minutes, they just laid there. His hand massaged her lower back, the way he always did when she became too uncomfortable to sleep. Thoughts raced through his mind. This was it? Forever? He thought he was getting off too easy. But he didn't mention it again. He was sure she'd be mad at him, later. But for now, he just wanted to enjoy the moment. He got the feeling it would be one of the few moments of peace he would be able to relish for a while.   
  
Shawn felt Angela's tension suddenly disappear, and he thought maybe she was falling asleep. For some reason he didn't want her to. He wished, at that moment, he could go get Sierra so they could all lay in bed together. The day hadn't been so bad. Maybe getting their first taste of being a family wouldn't be so bad either.   
  
"Angela?" he asked suddenly.   
  
"Hmm?"   
  
"Don't fall asleep."   
  
She chuckled lazily. "Shawn, 31 hours of labor, you give it a shot."   
  
Shawn chuckled too. "You gave her the name," he said after a long pause.  
  
Angela thought of that for a second and smiled. "Yeah."  
  
"I thought you hated it."  
  
"I didn't say I hated it," she said.   
  
"You made a face when I suggested it."  
  
She snuggled closer and sighed. "Guess it grew on me."  
  
"It means mountain rose," Shawn said proudly.   
  
"I know, baby," she said. "You've told me a million times."   
  
"Mountain rose hunter," he added pensively.   
  
"Umm hmm," Angela hummed.  
  
He took her hand again and started examining her fingers. "I'm not leaving, Ange."  
  
"I know," she said.   
  
"I mean it. I promise."  
  
Angela looked up at him, and thought that was the most serious she had ever seen him. So she reached up and gave him a kiss. "I know." He finally smiled. "But if you ever do, I'm gonna hunt your butt down and drag you home, okay?"  
  
He chuckled. "Okay."   
  
She closed her eyes again, and Shawn stayed there until she fell asleep. He had the feeling this time she would be asleep until morning. So he kept nudging her lower back, in case there was any lingering pain. Labor had taken a toll on her, and at one point, he was screaming for an Epidural himself. And it had continued for 31 hours. And he did stay. He stayed because he wanted to and not because he felt obliged to. He stayed through every contraction, through every moan of pain, through every death threat Angela spat at him. He was there. Even if he missed the most important part, he was there. And the thought consoled him a little.   
  
An hour passed, but he couldn't sleep. The adrenaline that had invaded his body earlier still kept him weary. And the thought of the next couple of days even more so.   
  
Another knock on the door. This time it was a different nurse, announcing that visitor's hours were over. He nodded and felt the urge to tell her he wasn't leaving, but he had to go home and pick up some things, the car seat, come clothes, diapers...  
  
And he really needed to get some sleep.   
  
He peeled Angela off his body and climbed out of bed. Seeking the missing warmth, she snuggled up to one of the pillows. He bent down, kissed her cheek and whispered a good-bye, and she smiled in her sleep again, like she always did.   
  
Shawn let out a big sigh as he walked out of the room. Instinctively, he raked his hand through his hair. The hallways were empty and silent, and he thought that was eerie. He started to walk away and stopped when the nursery suddenly appeared to his right. And he stood there. Sierra was sleeping soundly, sucking her thumb, as some of the babies cried. But the other babies didn't seem so important. He stared at his daughter and suddenly all the light in the room seemed to illuminate her, and he felt a sense of pride. He wondered if his father had felt this kind of happiness and love when Shawn was born. Or when Jack was born. He found himself not being able to guess the answer. He knew his father loved him, Chet had told him enough times. He was a good father, half the time that he was around. But the scars he left on Shawn were permanent. He missed Chet, sometimes. He missed the way his father could have been. He missed the life he could have had, even if he never had it.   
  
He would now try his best to give that life to Sierra. He would be there for ballet recitals, for kindergarten graduations. He'd teach her how to play baseball, to swim, and to catch a fish. He would read her poetry, sing her songs, teach her to read, and to appreciate art and nature. Everything he missed during his childhood, he'd give her. And he would also protect her from the bad things he had to experience. Even if he had to go through them all over again.   
  
"Hey."  
  
A voice startled Shawn, and his body jerked. Cory and Topanga stood behind him, wearing pleasing smiles. "Are you trying to kill me?" he breathed.   
  
Cory smiled, but didn't say anything. Topanga immediately glued herself to the glass panel and started at all the babies inside, awing and cooing to them as if they could listen.   
  
"She's so beautiful," she cried. "She looks like you, Shawn."   
  
"I keep hearing that," Shawn chuckled.   
  
"How's Angela?" she asked.   
  
"Not pregnant anymore," Shawn replied. "She seems to be happy about that." He wasn't sure Topanga was hearing him. Her hands were on the panel, her breath fogging the glass.   
  
So he looked at Cory, who still had a goofy smile on his face. Shawn rolled his eyes playfully and gave his friend a hug when Cory took a step forward and put his arms around his best friend.   
  
"I'm proud of you, daddy."  
  
Shawn raised his eyebrows. "Cory, if you ever call me 'daddy' again while we're hugging, I'm gonna have to tackle you."   
  
Cory laughed and took a step back to examine Shawn. "You look horrible."  
  
"Thanks," Shawn said sarcastically.   
  
"If those bags under your eyes don't make you a dad, I don't know what does," Cory joked.   
  
Shawn didn't have time to reply. Behind them, Topanga shrieked. "Cory, look at the twins!"  
  
Cory took a nervous breath. "Topanga, hands in the air, back away from the glass, slowly."  
  
Shawn smiled. "Did you see her name? I named her," he said proudly. "That's the name I chose."  
  
"It's nice," Cory replied.   
  
"It means mountain..."  
  
"Rose," Topanga and Cory said at the same time.   
  
"I told you that already?" Shawn asked.   
  
"Even our super knows," Cory replied.  
  
Shawn raised his eyebrows and looked at the nursery, suddenly feeling his mood change. "Still wish I had been here."  
  
Cory patted Shawn's back, "Don't worry, Jack has it on tape."   
  
Shawn's rolled his eyes. "So Jack got to see Angela giving birth, excellent."  
  
"Are you kidding?" Topanga said. "He cried more than Angela did."   
  
"We have that on tape too," Cory said. "Along with Eric trying to get on a bed next to the woman in 1310 in a show of unity. When the doctor said the water broke, he thought they were talking about him, so he freaked out, ran out of the room, slipped on the wet floor and sprained his ankle. They got him a nice room in pediatrics, he'll be fine."   
  
To Shawn, it was good to laugh again. With his best friends. He still had regrets, not hearing Sierra's first cry, not being able to cut her umbilical chord. But for the most part, he considered himself a lucky man.   
  
"So what's it like being a father?" Topanga asked.   
  
"It's great," Shawn said. "Cory, you should try it."   
  
Cory chuckled nervously. "Not if I can help it." Topanga gave him a glare and he recoiled. "And apparently tonight, not even by accident."   
  
Topanga smiled mischievously at him and turned to Shawn. "Can I baby-sit?"   
  
"A free baby-sitter? Sure," Shawn said. "What are you guys doing here, anyway?"  
  
"We thought maybe you needed a ride," Topanga replied.   
  
Shawn frowned. "You don't have a car."   
  
Cory and Topanga looked at each other. "The train, Shawn, we wanted to keep you company in the train."   
  
"Uh huh," Shawn said suspiciously. If he knew his friends, he knew they were here just to make sure he came back. He looked at the distance, where a nurse was tapping on the floor impatiently, waiting for them to leave. Cory and Topanga saw her and they started walking. "Coming?"   
  
"Yeah," Shawn said. He turned to the nursery to look at Sierra again. She still seemed happy just to lay there, warm and cozy. He tapped on the glass, trying to get her to hear him, but she remained asleep. It didn't matter to Shawn. He know that somehow, she could feel him there.   
  
"I'll see you tomorrow," Shawn said, putting his hand on the glass, trying to reach her. "I promise."   
  
And for the first time in his life, he was witness to a promise being kept.   
  
  
The End   
  
----  
  
Author's notes: Thank you for reading this, if you did. I don't know what on earth possessed me to write this. Actually, the voices in my head did, I just typed :o). I don't know if I'll be writing more, but I wouldn't be surprised if I did. I'm sorry if the format of this page is off. My Mac freaks out sometimes and I don't know how to fix it. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 


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